


Funeral Beds

by jedjubeed



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Death, M/M, cause it was a horrible war, descriptions of violence, gay stuff too, humantale by the way, i've written a bunch of letters he;d send to gaster, not major, theres like... four or five i think, war stuff, what if sans was in world war one, yep what if human sans was in world war one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedjubeed/pseuds/jedjubeed
Summary: Set in a world of humans. Sans is drafted into World War One - leaving his husband and younger brother behind for four years. (Yes I know America was only in there for like a year, so I'm gonna say they live in the UK.)





	1. Chapter 1

_September 5th, 1914_

 

The war is hindering. Everyone about me is falling to despair - but I haven't given up quite yet. It physically hurts not being around you, it's the only thing on my mind between the walls of these damned trenches.

It's hard, Gaster. I know what to do and how to fight, but it's so useless. This war is so useless. I don't know. I want to go home and be with you again. I need to, I miss you far too much to continue. 

If we don't risk ourselves and throw ourselves into the face of death, they'll just shoot us like cattle. Every time we go over the top dozens more fall to death. There would be hundreds of deaths a day.

...Gaster, I don't even know how many people have died. There are so many. So far I've been living in these fucking trenches for so long. I can hardly keep track of how long it's been. 

 

Gaster, please write back. I'm terrified. 

 

* * *

 

 

It's September, the 15th. I know this because a friend of mine has told me.

Our unit was removed from the front lines for a while to restock in recruits. It's absolutely horrid out here, I don't know what kind of person would want to join. 

I'm glad, at least, to be relieved of those trenches and their death. We only have 70 men, out of our starting of 200. It's terrible.

All of our medics are dead, Gaster. I'm scared. Not to die, no, but to live.

The other night I lie awake thinking of a life without you, and I realized that if I hadn't met you I most certainly would have died. Not by my own, but I know that with your essence I have carried with me is enough to keep me safe in this time. 

I've not lost the hope that you will write back, but it is fading. Maybe you think I'm dead, maybe these letters aren't even leaving Europe, and I'm just writing to the air.

Maybe you're burning these letters because you know I'm dead, maybe you'll get this letter in April and assume by then I'd have died.

Maybe you don't love me any more and just can't tell me. Either way, I'd like to remind you that I'm still alive, and I'm still here, and I still love you.


	2. the next year

It's December of the next year. I apologize for not getting back with you- I'm glad you finally wrote back. The truth is, I've been put back on the Western Front. I was shot in the eye. Not directly, mind, just grazing over deep enough to do damage. It was gruesome and painful, and I'll be blind in my left eye for the rest of my days. It isn't a major hindrance - I can still fight, that's all that matters. 

I'm still so glad you got back with me last year. I'll be sure to bring some flowers back with me. That reminds me of something you'd quite like to know as well. The one thing about France that I enjoy most is the flora. It's absolutely stunning, past the trenches and into the countryside. It reminds me of you quite a bit. I love you, as always. Please do not hesitate to write back, I will get your letter soon enough, and in time I will reply, as always. 

Please do not forget me, darling.

* * *

 

It's been three years since this war has started. It's full of disease and pain. I'm not sure how much longer I can last in this horrid place. It's made me a different person entirely.

However different I am, I promise I still love you, so much. Writing these letters to you is the only thing that keeps me sane... [The rest of the letter is hard to make out.]

...started this horrible war.... I hate it so much.... 

 

The other night I woke up screaming.... gasping... This disgusting place.... I couldn't think what would happen if.... without you... A pessimistic train of thought.... 

I know you know this... I ache every day wanting to be with you...

[The last paragraph is surprisingly easy to read.] 

I know you would not leave me, even through your sickness. I know this, as I know many things about you and my brother, and I know that even if you did he would write me in saying. I know many things, love, but most of all I know I would not leave you, and I know you would not leave me. I love you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pray for me lads


	3. I know many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i'm only doing the "oh this letter is hard to read" because i cannot read my own fucking handwriting. thanks bye

[This letter is just as hard to read as the last.]

I haven't written in a long time... are returning home! I am very optimistic in... But many have died... 

I would have liked to hear from you... I am happy... leave after four years here! Now I do not have much time.... finish writing...

...will return home. 

I love you...

Do not forget me.

 

 

* * *

 

It's been weeks since I've returned. When I returned home, you were absent. Papyrus told me your condition had worsened while I was gone, and that letter you sent me was the last thing you'd done.

I've been paralyzed with grief since, I have hardly been able to move, and writing this letter is the most difficult task I've tried since. I'm withering away, I haven't eaten in days. The thought disgusts me.

After hundreds of thousands have returned from the war, the injured ghost the streets like lost souls. Those without arms, legs, those badly mangled like me. Each of us is damaged in our own way, if not physically. The mental hospitals are overflowing with the veterans, those worse than the rest of us. I can tell you now that we all fear another war soon, we all fear Europe as they recover. 

So much as to look at two men, you could tell a war veteran from another. This generation of young men is so distinctly tired, hollow and mangled, those older and younger are calling us "the lost generation."

It's not uncommon to see a man break down in the middle of the street. Drop down for cover from bombs that will never come. It's a very dark thing. Once one drops down, all of the others will beside him.

 

Last night I lie awake with you on my mind. You are all I ever think about. You have been the only thing on my mind for the past four years. I cannot change the fact that you're gone to never return. 

I can't take it any more. I can't keep thinking like this. As soon as I got the news, I cried for days. Now even doing that is too exhausting. If I don't do something, I'll wither away into nothing.  I don't want to die like that. I didn't want to die in the war, either.

I wanted to choose how I died, and I want to be with you.

I love you, and I miss you.


End file.
